


Hey Good Looking (We're a Lot of Miles From Home)

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-20
Updated: 2008-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sort of a Mort AU. Beta by laurelcrowned.</p><p>Nick's fictional band, Missing Skies, are: Dan, vocals; Nick, lead guitar; Nigel, rhythm guitar; Andrew, bass; Charlie, drums.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hey Good Looking (We're a Lot of Miles From Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a Mort AU. Beta by laurelcrowned.
> 
> Nick's fictional band, Missing Skies, are: Dan, vocals; Nick, lead guitar; Nigel, rhythm guitar; Andrew, bass; Charlie, drums.

The sand room was never quiet. Hundreds of hourglasses, sand slipping through every second, set up a constant background _shhhhh_.

Tyson found it soothing. When he had some time – or rather, some stretch of non-time with no work to do; the non-realm he lived in existed outside time and space, so concepts such as 'breakfast time' or 'afternoon' didn't mean anything here – he liked to take one of the books into the sand room and read. It was prying, true, but it wasn't like it hurt anyone. He liked to keep an eye on the souls he'd be dealing with.

One of the hourglasses had only a small amount of sand left, Tyson noticed. Maybe a week. He stepped closer to see whose name was etched into the glass, find out where he'd be going next, maybe grab the dude's book and read up so he'd know what sort of form to assume. Some people were traditionalists and wanted the whole cloak-and-scythe deal, and Tyson liked to be accommodating.

In letters grooved near the base, the glass read _Nickolas Wheeler_.

Tyson's voice wasn't projected in sound so much as the feel of gravestones falling onto each other like dominoes. "SHIT," he intoned.

* *

It was a beautiful day, the sky a deep and clear blue, and Nick took his coffee out onto the balcony. He had the paper in one hand, cup in the other, sipping from it, and sat on the low balcony wall.

"Hey," a voice called from above him, "watch out for the –"

Instead of coming to rest on the wall, Nick was gaining momentum, slipping over the side; he grabbed for the nearest surface, but his hand slid off it. As he fell, he heard his coffee cup smash on the ground below, the voice above shout "The paint's still wet –", and he thought _schoolcollegefratbandgraduationfamebreakuprehabreformtourdowntime_ and _fuck, why'd I have to get the tenth-floor apartment with the great view instead of the first floor with the yard_ – and then he felt himself suddenly stop.

He opened his eyes, but instead of a tunnel of light, all he saw was the hot guy who'd moved in across the hall a week ago. "Um," Nick said, slowly becoming aware that he was sprawled in the guy's arms. "Did – am I –"

"You're okay. I uh, I caught you." The guy set him down. "Hi. We … met in the laundry room a couple days ago."

"Right, right." Nick remembered. They'd flirted the whole time. If ever there was a moment he needed that coffee, it was now. "I – I think you just saved my life. It hasn't really." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know how to thank you. I don't actually know what just _happened_. Um."

The guy patted him on the shoulder. "You've had a shock. Go finish breakfast, okay? You're alright now. And check for wet paint next time."

"I –" Nick stuck his hand out. "I'm Nick."

The guy paused, but then shook his hand. "Tyson. And you're welcome."

"Look, I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I'm five years clean, so – you free for dinner some time? I'd really like to say thank you when I, uh." He waved a hand.

Tyson looked hesitant, but he said, "Sure, yeah, that'd be nice."

"Great. I – I have to go sit down for a while now, but can I stop by later to talk about a date for it?"

"Sure," Tyson replied. "Sure."

Nick went back inside. He took another shower, made some more coffee, and sat on his couch staring at the wall for a while. His hands were shaking, and he _really, really_ needed a drink. Some wine, a beer, hell, he'd take _vodka_ right now and he hadn't touched the stuff since that incident with the strippers and the hotel bill. He drank another cup of coffee and called Dan.

"So you almost had to look for a new guitarist," he said, once Lauren had prodded Dan awake. It was early in California.

"What?" Dan's voice sounded still burned out from the tour, and thick with sleep.

"It would've been Nige and some new guy. I just almost died." He wondered if this was what shock felt like.

"Nick, what the fuck are you talking about?" He sounded more awake.

"I fell off my balcony."

"Shit, fuck, are you okay? _How_ are you okay?" Totally, definitely awake now.

"Somebody caught me." Nick closed his eyes, thinking, _Tyson_.

Dan paused. "Are you shitting with me? You live on the _tenth floor_."

"Dude, I swear to you, he caught me."

"Who?"

"That guy who moved in across the hall. Tyson, his name's Tyson." Nick waited for the ridicule, but it never came. "You okay, man? Usually this is the part where you rag on me."

"You're serious. Nick, shit, I just almost lost my best friend. I'm looking at flights."

"What the fuck, you don't have to –"

"Shut the _fuck up_, Nick. Don't you give me shit for needing to hug you right now. Don't you fucking _dare_."

Nick swallowed down the _You sentimental jackass_. "I love you too." It came out more strained than he'd meant it to.

"You alright?"

He blew the air out of his cheeks. "Shaken up. Really fucking need a drink. But, I'm alive, I just – can't believe I almost _died_. If Tyson hadn't caught me –"

"He did. Thank fuck, he did. Look, I gotta go, I have to pack, my flight's in an hour. I'll see you in four. And Nick?"

"Yeah?" Nick shut his eyes, waves of relief washing over him.

"Do I even need to tell you not to touch a fucking drop?"

His voice was quiet. "Yeah."

"You drink, I'll kill you my fucking self."

"I love you, Dan."

"You too. See you soon."

Nick hung up, got up, and made himself another coffee. He thought about calling Charlie and Andrew, wondered what time it would be in Scotland and if their cells even had coverage in the mountains; he was looking at the clock, trying to remember the time zones, when he felt a sharp pain in his hand.

He heard a bang coming from his apartment door as he looked down, feeling like everything was moving in slow motion. An enormous spider scuttled away and out of the window. There was a bite on Nick's hand, and sharp, vicious pain was starting to radiate outwards from it.

All he could do was stare at his hand, rooted to the spot. He blinked, and he was staring at brown curls of hair, then he blinked again and it was just his hand, but the pain had stopped. It smarted, the bite looked angry and red, but the poison was gone. He was vaguely aware of sounds coming from the bathroom, but all he wanted, _all he wanted_, was to drink himself to sleep and end this freaky, nightmarish day.

The bathroom tap stopped running, and Nick looked up. Tyson stood in the doorway, looking awkward. "I uh, I had to brush my teeth after I spat out the poison. I'll buy you a new toothbrush."

"Okay." Nick's legs decided it was time to sit down. As there weren't actually any seats in the kitchen, he slithered to the floor.

"It might um, you might want to close the windows. Actually," Tyson added quickly, "better if I do it."

"Okay." Nick blankly watched him stepping over his legs, heard the windows close. Then Tyson left the room, and there came the sound of more windows shutting. Nick tried to get his brain to work, but it felt like a large swamp of syrup. Tyson appeared in the kitchen again.

"Sorry about the door. I'll fix the lock."

"Thanks." Nick paused. "What –"

There was a loud crashing sound, Tyson seemed to move faster than was humanly possible, and then he was standing over Nick, a cupboard in his arms. Nick scrambled up.

"Okay," he said, "that should not have happened."

Tyson set the cupboard on the floor. "_Shit_ that was heavy. What have you _got_ in there?"

"Condiments. Cans," Nick answered absently.

"Heavy shit," Tyson observed. "Sorry, uh, sounded like some things got smashed."

"I'll clean it up later. What are you even – how did you –"

Another crash, and this time Tyson was almost wrapped around him, holding up the elaborate light fixture that had just, apparently, fallen off the ceiling. "Ow," Tyson said, though his voice was breathy. He was pressed up against Nick, their faces inches apart. Nick's heart was thumping in his throat.

"What," he started, sounding hoarse, and stopped.

Tyson swallowed and stepped away, hefting the light fixture onto the floor. "Is there anywhere safe? Where nothing can get in or fall on you?"

"My room has uplighting," Nick answered, and then, of all the things that would make this day more bizarre, he blushed.

"Okay. In there. Quick."

Tyson ushered him in and shut the door. "It's been a while since a guy wanted to get in my bedroom so bad," Nick joked, weakly. Tyson was checking all the walls.

"You have no idea," Nick heard him mutter. "Alright," he said, turning to face him, "you should be okay in here. For now, anyway."

The morning caught up with Nick, sudden. "Tyson, what the hell is going on? Why'd you come to my apartment? How d'you _catch_ things so fast? You a superhero or something? Because I can keep your secret identity hidden."

Tyson hesitated, and then he sighed. "Sit down."

"What –"

"Seriously, this will go better if you sit down."

"Alright." Nick sat on the centre of his bed, as far from any potential falling objects as possible. Tyson paced.

"Okay. See, here's the thing. I'm, uh. You were supposed to die today, and I was supposed to take you to the Beyond, only, uh, I caught you instead."

Nick stared at him. "What the fuck?"

"Did I not just save your life four times?" Tyson asked. "Look, okay, I know this is hard to believe –"

"But you _can't_ be Death, you live across the hall," Nick felt he should point out.

"Actually, I'm kind of … specialised. There's too much work for one Death, we have our own jobs. I deal with musicians, usher them On."

Nick could not stop staring at him. "You're the rock and roll Death?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"I don't believe you. Shouldn't you be a skeleton?"

"What? No, that's just for show. Started out in Gaul, kind of stuck after the Middle Ages. The whole scythe thing." Tyson waved a hand.

Nick stared.

Tyson sighed. "Fine. You're freaking out enough as it is, but maybe this'll make you believe me." There was a pause, and then Tyson was dressed in a black cloak, hood pulled up and over so his face was in shadow, a tall scythe in one hand. "SEE? SCHYTHE, CLOAK, ALL OF IT." His voice felt like stone slabs. "NOBODY DOES THE SKELETON THING ANY MORE. WAIT, I THINK SOME OF THE ACADEMICS GET THE SKELETON TOO, IF THEY'RE ALL INTO THE MYTHOLOGY SHIT. BOATMAN'S PRETTY POPULAR. WE TRY TO MAKE IT EASY FOR THE SOUL, YOU KNOW? GIVE THEM SOMETHING FAMILIAR."

"Could you, uh," Nick cleared his throat. "Change back? It's sort of creepy."

"SORRY." A moment, and then Tyson was just in shirt and jeans again. "SORRY ABOUT THE –" He coughed vigorously. "Sorry about the voice thing, it's all slabby. Not much I can do about it, except talk like this."

"You're putting on the voice? The … non-slabby voice?" It was the weirdest question Nick had ever asked, including the time he'd found a girl curled up in Charlie's drum kit and asked the band at large who had put the naked chick in the box. (Turned out Nigel was to blame.)

"Yeah." Tyson eyed him. "You're not freaking out as much."

"Well, I guess I don't think you're crazy, since you … are actually Death." The rest of what he'd said clicked into place. "Wait, I was supposed to die? I'm forty-one, dude!"

"Yeah, I know. I take a lot of souls younger than you."

"But," Nick looked at him, "you saved me."

Tyson avoided his eyes. "Yeah."

"Okay. Why?"

The carpet, from the looks of Tyson, held the great secrets of the universe. He mumbled something.

"What?" Nick asked, watching as Tyson glanced up at him and then back down, cheeks flaring red.

"I didn't want you to die," Tyson said, quiet.

"Oh." Nick paused. "Why?"

Tyson dug at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker. "I didn't exactly think this through," he muttered.

"Seriously. Why'd you do it?" Nick kept watching him. Pink spots faded in and out on his cheeks, and if it was possible, Nick was watching Death squirm.

"I –" Tyson licked his lips. "I – read your book, sometimes. Um, the uh, the book your life's being written in right now. Everything's in there, and I look in on my souls every now and then, see how they're doing, and uh." He blushed harder. "I like you," he said, so quiet Nick had to strain to hear it. "I uh, your hourglass was almost empty, I kind of … I guess I just figured I'd be, I don't know, somebody? Even if it was just the dude across the hall. Um." He was still staring at the carpet. Nick's heart had decided his body was a pinball machine and it was going to aim for the highest score. "And then I saw you fall and – I couldn't just, like." He made a movement with his hands, and it took Nick a minute to realise it was a swinging motion. "I couldn't let you die."

Nick tried to clear his throat, but his heart was busy collecting points. He tried again. "Oh." It didn't have much sound in it.

"And now I've screwed up _big time_, because you're not dead, and the fabric of reality's going to rip if you're still alive by tomorrow. You're supposed to die _today_." Tyson finally looked at him, running one hand through his hair until it stood up in peaks. Nick's heart found time to knock against his ribs as it passed, because Tyson looked dishevelled and out of his depth and _adorable_.

"I don't, um. What happens if I die?" He swallowed. His throat felt like a desert, he _really_ needed a drink. Not even alcohol, just water or something, anything, because this was all weird and Death was a hot dude who'd saved him and basically, Nick was having a fucking insane day.

"I don't know. Your soul goes somewhere, I have no idea. And … that's it. I mean, I – I don't know what happens then." He gave a tiny, weak smile. "I'm just the delivery guy."

"Right." Nick paused. "I really don't want to die, you know."

"Me either. But um, I don't know what to do about this whole … I mean, the universe or whatever isn't going to give up, you're meant to be _dead_."

"Dan," Nick suddenly remembered. Tyson looked startled. "Sorry, just – Dan, my best friend? He's coming here, I called him after the balcony." His heart settled and sank. "I don't want to leave him."

"You're close," Tyson nodded. His face was steadily falling.

"Yeah. He got me into the frat at college, started up the band with me. Man, he was such an asshole back then. Think I spent more time dealing with crying girls than doing assignments, thanks to him." Nick glanced over at the picture sitting on the windowsill, of the whole band after they got signed – Charlie and Andrew standing as close as possible, it was right before they started dating; Nigel with one arm around Dan and one around Nick; Charlie hugging Nick with one arm and half of his body; every face alight. "He really came through for me, though."

Tyson cleared his throat. "Yeah. Uh. Thing is, you're going to have to leave him. You have to die today. I just –" Tyson looked at him for a moment. "I can't," he said, softer, "I fucking _can't_. Shit."

"Why don't you just … not kill me?"

"It's not me that kills you, I only make the transition easier. I've heard about souls who die without being severed, they have to separate themselves. Apparently it's agony." Nick winced. "Uh, and I guess I should have phrased it you're _going_ to die today."

"Is there any way you can … I mean, what if you just –"

"Kept saving your life? Can't stop you dying in your sleep, Nicky, I can only stop accidents. I know right before it's gonna happen, but not before that."

"You could wake me up?" he suggested, but without any sort of hope. Tyson shook his head. "Shit. Will you, uh. I mean, I don't want it to hurt, you know?"

Tyson looked like he wanted to cry, or maybe punch something. "I'll make sure it doesn't, I promise."

"Okay. Thanks. I guess, I – I guess I should say goodbye to the guys." He paused. "Shit, gonna tear up. Crying is manly, right?"

"Totally," Tyson nodded.

"Would you mind, um." Nick took his phone out of his pocket. "I have to do this alone. But if I'm about to die, feel free to jump in and save me."

"Of course." Tyson left, looking pretty miserable. Nick took a deep breath and hit 1 on his speed dial.

"Dan, I hope you get this before you get here. I just, I wanted to say thank you. For pretty much everything. Tell Lauren I said to take care of you. I love you, man." He hung up, hit 2, left Nigel a similar message, hit 3 and left one for Charlie and Andrew on Charlie's voicemail. His voice only cracked once, when he was telling Charlie to take care of Andrew and make sure he didn't get in any trouble. He made a few more calls, and then he closed his phone and took deep breaths until the urge to cry passed. Then he cleared his throat and called out, "Okay."

The door opened. "You alright?" Tyson asked. He'd brought Nick's jacket and was carrying a guitar case.

"Yeah. What are those for, I get to take shit to the afterlife?"

"You're not going to the afterlife," Tyson said, and he looked a little desperate. "You're coming with me."

Nick stared at him. "What? How can – what do you mean, come with you?"

"Look, it's the only way I can think of to stop you dying. I mean, you can't come back here or anything, but my place exists outside of time, you could live however long you want there."

Nick blinked. "What – really? Your place?" He'd never thought about where Death might live.

"Yeah. I – don't just, don't say you'll come just because I'm asking, but. Nick, I'm _asking_," and Tyson's face pleaded along with his voice. "Come home with me?"

Nick's heart knocked against his ribs again. "I can't come back?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Tyson, thinking fast.

"No. They'll think you're dead. Which you … would have been anyway."

"But I wouldn't be?"

"No." Tyson held up the guitar case. "Figured you'd want this, right? Your first Firebird."

Something about the fact that Tyson apparently knew him well enough to know exactly what he'd want to take with him made Nick's heart flip over. "Okay. Yeah, I'll come with you."

Tyson's entire face lit up. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah, really." The urge to kiss him was very, very strong, but Nick resisted it. "I guess we go now, before something else tries to kill me?"

"Yes. Just – here, take this – oh fuck," and he grabbed Nick and pulled him down. There was a loud smash, something went whizzing over Nick's head, and Tyson gripped onto his hand. Nick closed his eyes, in case any glass shards or debris flew near his face – and then he felt like he was flying, weightless, for a minute. He tried to open his eyes again but they refused to budge; and then he felt soft grass under his knees and his eyelids flew open and Tyson was standing on a wide green lawn, still holding Nick's jacket and guitar case. He held out the jacket.

"Thanks," Nick said, pulling it on as he stood up. It was cold out here. "Hey, how's the fabric of reality? It going to be okay?"

"THE WORLD REGISTERS YOU AS DEAD, REALITY'S SAFE."

"The uh, the slab voice?"

"YEAH, I KNOW, IT'S HARDER TO COVER UP HERE. I'LL try, though."

"It's actually not all that bad. Just kind of … I guess it'll take some getting used to."

"Well, you've … got time." Tyson turned away, indicated the huge rambling house behind them. "GO ON INSIDE, I'VE GOT SOME STUFF TO TAKE CARE OF."

"Okay." Nick held his hand out for the guitar case, and Tyson passed it over.

"LISTEN – I'M SORRY."

"What for?"

Tyson ran a hand through his hair. "YOU HAD TO LEAVE EVERYONE."

"Hey." Nick waited until Tyson looked up. "You saved my life, dude. I had to leave them anyway, this way I got to say goodbye. I kind of always hoped I'd get time to do that, you know?"

"YEAH." Tyson dropped eye contact. "ANYWAY, I'M SORRY YOU'RE STUCK HERE NOW."

"I'd rather be here and alive than really dead. Stop apologising, okay?"

Tyson smiled a little. "OKAY. WELL – MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME, I'LL BE BACK LATER."

Nick put the guitar case down in the front hall. The house looked a little dismal from the outside, but inside it was actually really nice. He started wandering. One room was clearly Tyson's study, another turned out to be a huge kitchen equipped with pretty much everything, and there were a few rooms with couches that looked well-stuffed and comfortable. A narrow corridor led away, three doors at the end of it, and Nick went to look in the first room.

It was enormous. No, more than enormous – it seemed to be _infinitely_ vast. There was a soft rushing sound filling the air, and as Nick stepped into the room he saw that it was filled with shelf after shelf of hourglasses, sand running through the narrow middle of each. There were names carved on them, but the second Nick realised he was looking at the lifespan of every musician in the world, he backed away and out of the room, creeped the fuck out.

The second room was just as vast, and filled with a soft scratching sound. The shelves this time held books, large leather-bound tomes. A single volume was lying on a table, and as he approached he noticed there were letters on the cover. He looked closer.

_Nickolas Don Wheeler_, it said.

He opened it to a random page.

_"Everyone alright?" Nick asked, smoothing his shirt down nervously._

_"They still love us, right?" Nigel swallowed._

_Charlie patted Nigel's shoulder as he passed. "They all bought tickets. Sold out comeback tour, remember? Of course they still love us." He grabbed his sticks._

_"Missing Skies, two minutes," a voice called over the backstage PA._

_"Time to go." Andrew slung his bass strap over his shoulder. He, Charlie and Nigel left the dressing room, but Dan hung back. Nick could feel him watching as he strapped his guitar on._

_"You'll be okay," Dan said. Nick's hands were shaking._

_"This isn't the first show I've played sober," he pointed out._

_"Yeah, but it's the first you've played without a whole load of beer in you."_

_Nick blew the air out of his cheeks. "Fuck, I know. I really need a –"_

_"No you don't. You'll rock it the fuck out."_

_"Dan –" Nick was cut off by Dan darting forward and pressing their mouths together. Dan kissed him, gentle, and Nick kissed back, breathing through his nose. It lasted maybe thirty seconds, and then Dan leaned back and Nick licked his lips and said, "Thought you were a two beer queer."_

_"You needed steadying. It's what I do, remember?"_

_Before Nick could reply, the door opened and the stage manager said, "Dan, Nick, one minute to curtain." They nodded, and the door closed again._

_Dan grinned. "You feeling any pangs of major remorse?"_

_Nick snorted and pushed him towards the door. "You're a dick. Do warm-ups."_

Nick shut the book. He found an empty space on the shelf, slid his life back into its slot, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Upstairs there was an enormous bathroom with a bath you could probably swim in, and a barely-furnished bedroom mostly just housing a huge four-poster bed. Nick looked in the door down the hall, but it was clearly Tyson's room, so he figured the other room was his. He was sleepy, still shaken up from everything, and oblivion looked very inviting. So he got undressed, draping his clothes over the end of the bed, and stretched out under the covers.

When he woke up, he kept his eyes shut. He could hear the ocean, so he must have left the window open. The bed felt softer and more comfortable than usual, and he'd had the weirdest dream; something about the dude across the hall being Death. Nick was still trying to think up a good enough excuse to bump into him again, maybe ask him out this time.

He could smell coffee.

He opened his eyes. His room looked … different. The curtains were the same. The walls and his duvet were a different colour, though, and while he could _hear_ the ocean he couldn't _smell_ it. He looked around; some of his stuff was where he'd left it, but a lot was missing. The picture on his windowsill looked suspiciously bright and fresh, the frame no longer bearing years of scuff-marks and chips of moving house a few times. And his bed had somehow become a four-poster in the night.

He got up. His wardrobe was still there, and when he opened it, all of his clothes were hanging on the rack. There was something about them, though … he looked closer.

They were all _new_.

And then he remembered that it hadn't been a dream – that he was, to all intents and purposes, dead. He let it sink in for a minute, wondered who would be at his funeral, spent two point six four seconds feeling kind of awful, but then thought, _Hey, at least I'm still breathing_. He still didn't know how all his stuff had got here, though.

He found soft, fluffy towels in the bathroom, and full bottles of all his favourite hair and shower things lined up on a shoulder-height shelf. He showered, thinking about trying to write some music on his own, or maybe Tyson played guitar and if not he could teach him, they could play for each other or maybe he could just play for Tyson, something. It could be pretty sweet here, the ultimate downtime. He let the steam build up around him as he lathered his hair, humming, and when he got out of the shower he put on soft, luxuriously clean clothes.

Tyson was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs. "So this is heaven, right?" Nick asked, sitting down and pouring himself some coffee from the pot on the table. It tasted as delicious as it smelled.

Tyson seemed to glow for a second. "No, that's a gay club in London."

"Oh. I think I went there once."

"You'd remember." Tyson had his back to him, but turned to grin. "That place is _wild_."

"Well, I was pretty drunk." Nick sipped at his coffee while he paused. "Um, Tyson? How come my stuff's in my room?"

Tyson kept his back turned. "Uh," he coughed. "I um, there was an accident, something fell off a plane – right when we came here, remember? Uh. Your apartment kind of got … smashed up. I saved what I could, replaced some other stuff." His voice went quiet and he said, "Want this to be home for you, you know?"

Nick stood up, walked over, and kissed Tyson's cheek. "You did all this for me?"

Tyson blushed. "Well." He scratched at his ear. "Want some eggs?"

"Thanks." He sat back down, and Tyson served up two plates of breakfast; eggs, bacon, tomatoes. "You have to eat?" Nick asked, watching him. "Or are you just being polite, or what?"

"I don't have to eat to survive, but if I _don't_ eat I go all skeletal."

"Oh. Hence the kitchen?" Nick started in on the food. Tyson was pretty good at making breakfasts.

"Well, this place was built for a human, so –"

"Wait, you're human?" Nick stared. "What about all the –" He waved a hand.

"I was human when I came here. I'm pretty much immortal now, my voice changed, and I can do stuff for my job, alter my appearance, all that shit. No one out in the world can see me unless they're gonna die soon, but aside from all that I'm basically still human."

"No one can see you?" Nick frowned, thinking back. "But –"

"Cats can. Dogs, sometimes, and psychics. You were the only one who noticed me, last week."

"Shit. Really?" Now he thought about it, several things made a lot more sense. "Huh."

"Yeah. I'm actually not sure anyone could see _you_ after I caught you. I mean, that was right when you were supposed to die, from what I gather no one saw you get caught. I uh, I think the official story is that you died then, someone swears they saw a body."

"Fuck, seriously?" Nick thought for a minute. "Does Dan know? Is he freaked?"

"Um. Yeah, he knows, and they're all pretty freaked, since you called them after you died. They'll be okay, though."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." They were silent for a minute, and Nick finished his breakfast. He looked up again, saw Tyson watching him, and cleared his throat. "So how long ago did you come here?"

"I guess, uh, out in the world it's been a few thousand years."

"Wow." Nick couldn't take his eyes off him now the subject was changed. "So was Tyson your name before this?"

"Kind of. Like, an early form of it. I like to move with the times, though, I've been just Tyson for a while."

"Wow," Nick repeated. Tyson was going red again under the scrutiny, so Nick looked away. "Uh. Sorry. You're just kind of fascinating," he blurted out. _Shit. Real smooth there, Wheeler._

Tyson coughed. "Thanks."

"So," Nick changed the subject again after a charged pause during which he mostly wondered if he should lunge across the table and straddle Tyson's lap or if that would be too much at this stage, because he really sort of desperately wanted to, but they had a while and if things turned even _more_ awkward they'd be stuck with awkward for a long, _long_ time, "what do you generally … do around here?"

"I work, um, a lot. And – okay, I have a couple things to show you." He stood up, dumping their plates in the sink.

"Death doesn't have a dishwasher?" Nick smiled.

"Don't – I'm not Death, okay? Here, I'm just Ty. So call me Ty."

"Sorry." Nick stood up. "Lead the way."

Tyson first of all led him down the narrow corridor with the enormous rooms. "Sand room, archive," he said, pointing as they passed the first two doors. "And this," he said, holding onto the handle of the third, "is the records room." He opened the door and Nick stepped inside.

It was even more vast, if that was possible, than the other two rooms. It was likewise full of shelves, but crammed in, as far as the eye could see, were _records_. Vinyl, LPs and EPs, more albums than Nick had seen in his entire life. "Okay," he breathed," now I _know_ I died and this really is heaven. Well, I mean, I did die. But this is fucking _heaven_."

Tyson looked like he was trying not to smile. "Any music that's made in the world, it gets put on a record here." He took a sleeve from the nearest shelf, tilted it to show Nick the familiar artwork. "Got all yours. I've … got everything. Even shit that never gets released." He put the Missing Skies album back on the shelf, grabbed hold of a ladder that seemed to be attached to the shelves, and climbed up. He picked an album off a high shelf and climbed back down. "Def Leppard studio stuff that got scrapped. One of the tracks is just everybody throwing stuff at Joe."

Nick's eyes widened. "You're joking."

"Nope." Tyson grinned. "Here, it's yours."

Nick took it. "Holy _shit_," he said, voice hushed. "No one else has heard these?"

"Just the band and Mutt." Tyson laughed. "You should see your face, man."

"I could fucking kiss you," Nick declared. Tyson shifted.

"Uh. I have something else to show you, come on."

They left the records room, back down the corridor, and Tyson led him to one of the rooms he'd seen yesterday, with the comfy couches. Tyson stopped.

"Um. I hope you like it." Then he opened the door and Nick was looking at his own living room.

His pictures were on the walls. His guitar rack was in the corner, filled up with Gibsons, first Firebird on a separate stand. The couches even had his cushions on them, but they looked softer, comfier. His TV sat in another corner, the shelves above it full of his DVDs, cases alphabetised.

"I tried to get it as close as I could," Tyson said, biting his lip. "I … is it okay?"

Nick put the record in his hands down and pulled Tyson in for a hug. The contact sent bolts of electricity all through his body, and he hugged Tyson tightly. Tyson melted into it, hugging back just as hard, breathing shakily into Nick's ear. "It's amazing," Nick whispered. "I don't know how to thank you."

Tyson made a small sound, but didn't say anything. He just buried his nose in Nick's neck and inhaled. Nick's eyes slid closed and he turned his head until his nose was in Tyson's neck, and pressed a kiss to the skin.

Tyson's breath stuttered. Nick kissed his neck again, softly working a line of kisses up to Tyson's ear, and whispered into it, "You're pretty awesome, you know that?"

Tyson groaned softly, shifted and darted in. He kissed Nick, desperate, _hungry_, and Nick kissed back, just as desperate, one hand in Tyson's hair. He tasted a little like breakfast but a lot like something else, something in the way he smelled. "Nicky," he moaned into their mouths, and Nick shivered deliciously.

"Ty," he exhaled. Tyson nibbled on his lower lip, and the backs of Nick's knees melted. He flexed the hand in Tyson's hair, the other on his waist, sliding between the skin and the waistband of his jeans. Tyson pressed their hips together; they were both hard, and Nick groaned, pressing back.

Tyson was shaking. "I have to," he panted, "I have to work – Nick, fuck –"

"You've got time," Nick breathed, hands in Tyson's hair and on his skin and if he didn't get to fuck him _right the fuck now_ he'd spend all day jerking off, and then he'd be asleep when Tyson came back. "Time doesn't mean anything here, right?"

Tyson groaned. "Good point. I got stuff – upstairs, my room –"

They started moving, trying not to break any contact. "You got condoms?" Nick asked, between frantic kisses that left his spine tingling. "Think all mine got lost with the apartment."

"No. Never … needed them here." They broke apart to get up the stairs, practically leaping each step. "You don't have anything, that stuff goes in the book. I um, I checked. You're clean."

Nick grunted as their cocks made contact again, through layers of fabric. "You clean too?"

"Hell yeah. Sparkling." He sounded sort of amused at the concept that he wouldn't be, so Nick stopped. He was pressing Tyson's back up against the bedroom door and had been kissing along his neck.

"Ty, you've had sex before, right?" he asked carefully.

Tyson rolled his eyes. "I was twenty when I came here, dude. Which was relatively a lot older back then, like, middle-aged. _Yes_ I've had sex."

"With guys?" He had to check.

"With girls, with guys, none of whom died of syphilis. You think I wouldn't check that shit? I'm totally clean."

"Ty," Nick flicked his tongue out against Tyson's jumping pulse, "how long has it been?"

"Like you said," Tyson angled his neck as Nick nudged his nose along it, "time doesn't mean anything here."

Nick undid the button on Tyson's jeans. "How long?"

Tyson tilted his hips. "A long fucking time," he groaned, and Nick dropped to his knees. He pulled Tyson's shirt up, nuzzling every patch of skin until Tyson was whimpering and shaking hard.

"I am going to make this," Nick said, pulling Tyson's jeans down (he _wasn't wearing any underwear_, fuck), "worth waiting a long fucking time for."

Tyson's breath hitched. Nick nuzzled along the shaft of Tyson's cock, flicking his tongue out here and there, and then sucked the head of it in.

Tyson stopped whimpering. He stopped making any sound at all as Nick wrapped a hand around the base, taking as much into his mouth as he could. He listened; over the rushing in his ears, he heard Tyson exhale shakily. He started sucking.

Nick was good at giving head. He knew it, he'd had a lot of practice, and he knew how to tell when was the best time to do what to make the guy feel like the world was ending. There was always a trick to it, different with each guy, but he knew how to look for the indicators. He'd had a triad with two dudes from another band for a while, and Mike had made different sounds when Nick was sucking him off to when Nick was sucking him off while Chris fucked him. Nick's longest-standing boyfriend, a tech Nigel had nicknamed Kadaver, had moaned in a particular way when he wanted Nick to twist his wrist. It was always, always in the noises.

And Tyson wasn't making any.

Nick looked up at him, hollowing his cheeks. Tyson's eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and his breathing was ragged. Nick pressed with his tongue, and Tyson's breathing changed; he tried a quarter-twist with his wrist, and Tyson swallowed.

Nick went as still as he could, listening for every hitch and break in Tyson's breathing. He sucked on instinct, pattern and speed, and Tyson gulped and squirmed and exhaled. He loosely tangled a hand in Nick's hair, glancing down; Nick was still watching him, hollowed his cheeks again. Tyson dropped his head back against the door, mouth falling open, breathing hard. Nick took a chance, started working his other hand back, pressing _in_. Tyson's hips bucked, but he flattened them against the door, looking down anxiously.

It took Nick a minute to realise Tyson was checking he hadn't choked him, and he sucked reassuringly, heart dancing a polka on his ribs. He pushed the finger inside Tyson further in, curling it, and Tyson exhaled hard, scritching at the back of Nick's head; Nick realised it was a warning, pulled off enough not to choke as Tyson came.

He swallowed carefully, sitting back on his heels, just looking up. Tyson still had his eyes closed, chest heaving, obviously trying to get his breathing back under control. Nick stood up, touched Tyson's hip gingerly; Tyson twitched, opened his eyes.

"You okay?" Nick asked. Tyson nodded. Nick gently pulled Tyson's shirt off over his head. "Come on," he growled into his ear, "get in the bedroom. I really, _really_ want to fuck you right now."

Tyson opened his mouth, exhaling shakily, eyes rolling back to look up at the ceiling. He fumbled for the handle and they fell inside when he suddenly got the door open.

He yanked Nick closer, leaving his own clothes in a heap on the floor, tugging at Nick's shirt. He crashed their mouths together when it was discarded, pulling the zip on Nick's jeans down; Nick stepped out of the rest of his clothes as Tyson grabbed some lube from the drawer, lay down on the bed.

Nick knelt between Tyson's legs, squeezing some lube onto his fingers. Tyson spread his thighs, arched up as Nick slid two fingers inside, worked him open. Tyson exhaled, shaky, and reached a hand for Nick's cock; his palm was slick as he wrapped it around, Nick groaning at the sensation.

Tyson still wasn't making any sound, just breathing. Nick added another finger, leaned down, flicked his tongue against Tyson's earlobe and said, "Didn't figure you for a silent one."

"I CAN'T," Tyson breathed, wind whispering over stone, "I CAN'T DO THE VOICE WHEN YOU'RE – FUCK, I CAN'T _THINK_ WHEN YOU'RE –"

"Oh." Nick kissed a soft line up his neck. "I'll get used to the voice, Ty."

"IT'S NOT EXACTLY SEXY." It felt like it was raining in a graveyard. _Sadly_, Nick realised, _he said it sadly._

He curled his fingers. Tyson bucked. "Try me." Nick took Tyson's earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently.

"_NICK_," Tyson moaned, and it felt like a name on a gravestone.

"Um." Nick stopped. "Maybe, um."

"IT'S OKAY. I'LL BE QUIET."

Nick breathed in, kissed over Tyson's neck again. He smelled so fucking good. "It's, maybe not forever, I swear I'll get used to it –"

"NICK, REALLY, IT'S OKAY. JUST," he tilted his hips up, "PLEASE, FUCK, I WANT YOU _SO BAD_."

Nick groaned, took his fingers out. He slathered up his cock some more, lined up their hips, and pushed in. Tyson's mouth fell open and he exhaled hard, curling his body up into the curve of Nick's. "Fuck, Ty," Nick whispered, feeling Tyson squeeze around him.

Tyson breathed, squirmed, and Nick trailed light kisses along his clavicle, memorising the way Tyson inhaled when something Nick did felt good. He set a fast, hard rhythm, and built up a mental map, how and when to do what to drive Tyson crazy. After a few minutes, he felt something against his stomach, looked down; Tyson's cock was stirring, getting hard again. Nick groaned into his skin and Tyson's eyes rolled shut.

"Ty," Nick moaned, mouth against his neck, gently wrapping one hand around his cock and thrusting in harder. There was no sound, for several more minutes, except their breathing; Nick wanted to fill the silence, but he also wanted to _listen_, and he couldn't keep hold of coherent thought in any case. He was too occupied with the sensations of Tyson around him, Tyson's cock in his hand, the smell and taste of Tyson's skin, how desperately Tyson kissed him when he grabbed the back of Nick's head and yanked their mouths together. They were both shaking, and Nick pounded into him until his thighs ached, heat simultaneously pooling low.

He broke away from Tyson's mouth and yelped, "Ty, fucking _fuck_," as he came. He rocked every shockwave into Tyson, who grabbed hold of Nick's hips and desperately pushed back onto them. "Fuck," Nick whispered as he stilled. Tyson kept squirming. Nick licked a stripe up his neck, twisting his wrist and jerking Tyson faster. "You can talk," Nick said, voice sounding throaty, "if you want."

Tyson bit his lip. "YEAH?" he panted.

"Yeah." Nick nibbled a little on Tyson's earlobe. "Tell me what I'm doing right."

"FUCK, NICK, _EVERYTHING_. I CAN'T EVEN FUCKING," and he arched up, trailing off. "I FUCKING LOVE YOU NICKY, _FUCK_." Tyson moaned, long and loud, and it was like creaking hinges but somehow, somehow it didn't feel at all creepy now, somehow it felt sexy as _hell_ when Tyson came like rocks falling.

Nick nuzzled him as he settled back, relaxing piece by piece. "MMMM," Tyson sighed, stretching and going comfortably limp. "I'VE BEEN OUT OF PRACTICE FOR A WHILE, BUT _THAT_ WAS GOOD. TOTALLY WORTH THE LONG FUCKING WAIT." He opened his eyes. "WHAT?"

Nick was watching him, heart thumping. "You love me?" he asked, quiet. "I – right before you, um. You said you love me."

"OH. UH." Tyson closed his eyes, and Nick pulled out, shifting until he was lying next to Tyson, turned on his side to face him. "IT'S – WELL, I THOUGHT IT'D BE KIND OF OBVIOUS BY NOW. YEAH, I LOVE YOU."

Nick nuzzled closer until Tyson moved his arm; he cuddled into Tyson's side, one arm slung over his waist. Tyson curled his arm over Nick's back, and Nick pressed kisses to his chest.

Tyson swallowed. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO –"

"It's too early for me to say," Nick interrupted. Tyson stopped, nodded. "I only met you last week. But Ty, I like you a lot. You're gorgeous, and sweet, and I like the way you blush when you're being thoughtful. You taste good. You feel _awesome_." He trailed fingertips over Tyson's skin. "I like making you feel awesome too."

Tyson closed his eyes. "SMOOTH TALKER," he whispered, but his voice cracked a little. "I'M NOT A GROUPIE."

Nick leaned up and kissed him. "I mean it, Ty."

"OH." He bit his lip.

Nick settled back, kissed the skin within reach. "'m sleepy," he said, holding off a yawn.

Tyson kissed his hair. "NAP. I HAVE TO WORK IN A MINUTE, BUT I'LL BE BACK AFTER."

"Okay," Nick murmured, curling closer and feeling sleep tug him down.

He woke up, and Tyson was standing by the wardrobe wearing nothing but a towel. "Hey," Nick tried to mumble, lips stuck together.

Tyson looked over, face lighting up. "Hey, beautiful. Sleep okay?"

A familiar warmth started stealing through Nick's body; after a minute, he realised what it was. _I have a boyfriend_, he thought, hugging the covers. _I like my boyfriend_. "Yeah." The window was open, and Nick tilted his head towards it. "How come I can hear the ocean?"

"That's the tides of time," Tyson told him, pulling on a shirt. He selected a pair of jeans and put those on too, dropping the towel. Tyson, apparently, just didn't do underwear.

"You're kidding, that's a real thing? I thought it was just poetry."

Tyson shrugged. "It's used a lot in imagery, mostly in romantic poetry, but yeah, it's real. We crossed it to get here."

"Huh." Nick watched him for a minute. "Why'd you get dressed, Ty?"

Tyson glanced down, then back up, and the look on his face said all his Christmases had knocked on the door saying, "Hi, we have presents! And we brought some birthdays to gatecrash."

"Wasn't thinking," he grinned, yanking his clothes off again and diving for the bed.

Nick kissed him, quick. "I have to pee. Don't go anywhere."

When he got back to the bed, Tyson pulled him close and rolled on top of him. "So I couldn't concentrate," he murmured, kissing the skin just under Nick's ear. "Kept thinking about you, up here."

"Did anybody, um." He stopped. "How was work?"

"I wasn't on collection," Tyson said, hurriedly. "Just paperwork."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Paperwork?"

"Yeah, the boss has a thing for it. And uh, he wasn't exactly pleased that I brought you here. It's okay," he added quickly, "I wore him down. He'll be grumpy for a while, but I filed all the paperwork right, so that should go a ways to appeasing him."

"Uh. Thanks." He paused. "Wait, you have a boss? Is it – God?"

"No, no, it's Death. The real, original Death. He recruited us when there got to be too many souls, he was bending time to try and cope with them all, but it messed a lot of things up."

"Oh." Nick thought about that for a minute. "How do you get recruited for something like that anyways?"

"I, um." Tyson avoided his eyes. "I was sort of a, uh. A seer. He talked a lot about destiny and my potential, but I think part of it was just that I could _see_ him."

"Oh. And you're all, you know. Human? The recruits," he added.

"I _think_ so. Some of them have a whole extra arms thing going on, I don't know what that's about. The boss is definitely not human, though."

"Oh." Tyson started stamping kisses all over Nick's chest. "Is this your way of saying shut up it's sexy time now?"

Tyson snorted. "Sexy time?"

"What, you've been reading about me for who knows how long and you didn't notice I'm a nerd?"

"I noticed that it's _cute_," Tyson grinned up at him.

"Oh yeah? Says the dude who's fucking adorable when he's not being sexy as all holy fuck."

Tyson undulated. Nick was already half hard, but the movement tipped him closer to fully. "Really?" Tyson breathed, eyes closed. "ALL HOLY FUCK?"

Nick noticed the change in his voice. He also noticed that it had stopped being unsettling entirely, and now it was just … Ty. "Do you _have_ mirrors?"

"HEY, IT'S BEEN LIKE, MILLENNIA SINCE I GOT LAID. DOESN'T DO MUCH FOR THE EGO."

"Point."

"UH. HANG ON." Tyson rolled away and coughed. "LOST THE VOICE – GIVE ME A MINUTE. IT'S A LITTLE HARD TO UH, CONCENTRATE RIGHT NOW."

"Ty," Nick said over the coughing. "_Ty_. The voice is okay."

Tyson looked at him. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO PRETEND IT'S ALRIGHT –"

"What the fuck, Ty, I'm not a _girl_. You can just, you know, talk like you. Seriously."

Tyson rolled closer again. "ARE YOU SURE?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "YOU LOVE ME." He poked Nick on the arm. "HAH, YOU TOTALLY LOVE ME."

Nick waited for eye contact before he said, quiet, "A little, yeah."

Tyson stilled. He licked his lips. "YEAH?"

Nick pulled him closer. "There might be falling," he said, soft.

A grin started spreading over Tyson's face. He inched their mouths closer. "IS THAT SO?" he murmured, so softly it felt like smooth pebbles.

Nick brushed the tips of their noses together. "Find out," he smiled, and kissed him.


End file.
